


The Ghost

by buckysbeltbuckle



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 16:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17348507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckysbeltbuckle/pseuds/buckysbeltbuckle
Summary: When a highly-trained, deadly super-soldier goes rogue, one would think the Avengers have it under control. But, when even they can’t find their lost friend, one of them realises that maybe, just maybe, it takes a ghost to find a ghost.





	The Ghost

**Иркутск, Россия**

__[Irkutsk, Russia]_ _

 

The slow, steady drip of a leaking faucet into a grimy basin. The metallic creak of the standing fan in the room over, whirring lifelessly and stirring the dust. The hum of the generator, providing small ounces of energy to the otherwise archaic house.

All of these sounds and yet, she hears nothing.

She lies in the now-cold water of a clawfoot bathtub, the paint chipping at the sides and stained yellow with age. The water is red-brown and murky, not a single ripple disturbing the stillness as she blinks up at the cracked ceiling; the movement is so slow, so barely-there, that even she doesn't realise it's happening.

And then, piercing through the thick veil of odd tranquillity, a cheap burner phone rings from the basin beside her.

She is quick to stand up, the water cascading down her in a rush and taking with it the evidence of the day gone. The grime. The dirt. The blood. With a slightly shaking hand, she reaches for the phone as she steps out of the tub and onto the moth-eaten mat, not batting an eye when water spills over the edge and onto the tiled floor.

"Да." [ _Yes_.] Her voice is a monotone when she answers, and she feels goosebumps rise all over her exposed skin yet does nothing to stop it. She doesn't reach for a towel, nor does she move to hold herself. She merely stands in the cold, accepting her discomfort.

The voice on the other end of the phone is as lifeless as her own, and cuts straight to the point. "Готово?" [ _Is it done?_ ] There's a beat of silence, and then the voice adds, "Вы оставили свидетелей?" [ _Have you left witnesses?_ ]

She wants to scoff⎯if she were not competent enough to finish the task, they would not have asked for her personally⎯but instead, she nods to the silence. "Вам не нужно больше беспокоиться." [ _You do not need to worry anymore._ ]

"Хорошо," [ _Good_ ] the voice replies. "Вы полезнее, чем я ожидал." [ _You are more useful than I expected_.]

Her jaw clenches, and her grip on the phone grows tighter. "Теперь твоя очередь," [ _Now it is your turn_ ] she says, as calmly as possible. "Дайте мне информацию, которую я запросил." [ _Give me the information I requested._ ]

She is met with a slight chuckle, and then a pitiful sigh. "Возможно, вы не так умны, как я думал." [ _Perhaps you are not as smart as I thought._ ] She feels her muscles tighten in anger as the voice continues. "Я думаю, что я буду держать вас немного дольше. В конце концов, это то, ради чего ты родился." [ _I think that I will keep you a little longer. In the end, this is what you were born for._ ]

Her teeth grind together as she hangs up the phone, the plastic and metal bending in her hand as she crushes it in her fist. Throwing the lump of useless technology into the half-empty bathtub, she braces her hands on either side of the sink, glaring at herself in the reflection of the old mirror. The mercury glass is foxed with age, her image distorted by blotches and patches, but she takes in the sight of herself regardless.

Most of the bleeding has stopped. This, at the very least, is a good sign.

The wide gash along her side should be hurting⎯many would be in tears, the bullet having grazed her rib bone ever so slightly⎯but she's been trained to block out pain. It is something she has been living with her whole life, after all. There are a few bruises scattered around her body, the purple slowly emerging to the front of her skin, all roughly the size of brass knuckles. Those are tender, but they are hardly a setback. She can stand tall and not flinch.

She is strong. She is powerful. She must not forget that.

Scowling at the broken phone in the water, she thinks back on the words of her current employer.  _I think that I will keep you a little longer. In the end, this is what you were born for._

_This is what you were born for._

With a snarl, she goes to get dressed.

**⎯⎯⎯**

Three bodies lie in her wake as she steps towards the fourth, the man still cowering in a corner of the room. Dimitri, his name is. Her current employer.

"Пожалуйста, вы не поняли," [ _Please, you do not understand_ ] he shakily exclaims, holding his hands in front of him. "Это было не мое решение. Я не хочу-" [ _It was not my decision. I do not want-_ ]

"Достаточно, маленький человек." [ _Enough, little man._ ] She towers over him, her daunting shadow cast over his trembling body. "Я хочу информацию, которую вы обещали. Доставь это сейчас, или ты умрешь от боли." [ _I want the information you promised. Deliver it now, or you will die of pain._ ]

He lets out an inaudible sigh, his shoulders sagging in relief. "Там; В коробке." [ _There; in the box._ ]

Stepping over to the desk, she picks up a black, leather box about the size of a sheet of paper. With a side glance to the man who is now standing up slowly, she wedges the lid of the box open with her knife, raising an impressed brow at the contents.

"Это все там, как вы просили," [It is all there, as you requested] he assures, clasping his hands together in promise. "Время, даты, даже фотографии-" [ _Times, dates, even photos-_ ]

The loud bang of a gunshot interrupts him, and she watches as he sways on his feet for a moment before dropping to the ground. There's a red dot on his left shoulder, the colour spreading across his starch-white shirt as he gasps, his hand flying to the wound and pressing down, drawing a cry from his lips.

Stepping towards him, the smoking, untraceable pistol still in her hand, she snarls down at him. "Я удивлен, что ты этого не ожидал," [I'm surprised you didn't expect this] she says to him, her eyes emotionless as she raises the gun once again. "Вы сказали это сами..." [ _You said it yourself..._ ]

The man gulps down the blood that is rising in his throat, eyes wide as he stares down the barrel. Her finger rests upon the trigger once again.

"...This is what I was born for."

The gunshot echoes, and then she is gone.


End file.
